


Two Steps Forward and One Step Back

by Ribbons_Undone



Series: Everybody Knows What Happens Next [2]
Category: Queer as Folk (US), Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Sam Winchester, Blow Jobs, Comfort, Friendship/Love, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rare Pairings, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbons_Undone/pseuds/Ribbons_Undone
Summary: Typically it’s just Dean who gets to call him Sammy, but Emmett is the exception. When he says Sam’s name like that it’s endearing, it’s sweet, and the name means something that it doesn’t when Dean says it. What exactly it means Sam’s not sure, but he knows he likes it.
Relationships: Emmett Honeycutt/Sam Winchester
Series: Everybody Knows What Happens Next [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872910
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Two Steps Forward and One Step Back

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Supernatural Episode Tag: 6x16, but really any time after Sam gets his you-know-what back in season 6—the episode tag is mainly for geographical reasons. QAF timeline set at the end of season 2 before Em and Ted are a thing and the whole Justin/Ethan thing is going on.
> 
> Meet the follow-up, gratuitous smut chapter _8,10,12_ never had. Because I was kinda bummed I never figured out how to fit it in (S T O P) so I had to go back and at least try. And I wanted a challenge since all I’m writing these days is Destiel. And because Sammett (Wincutt??) is ADORABLE. 
> 
> Titles taken from the song/lyrics to KT Tunstall’s _Fade Like A Shadow_.
> 
> Please enjoy~!

* * *

_It’s two steps forward and one step back_

_Make up in love for what you think I lack_

_You’ve got a vampire on your neck_

_Everybody knows what happens next:_

_You fade like a shadow, fade like a shadow,_

_Fade like a shadow, fade._

_Fade like a shadow, fade like a shadow…_

* * *

_Two Steps Forward and One Step Back_

So he survived the apocalypse. So that happened. Sam knows this, obviously, because he’s still here. He still can’t remember what happened after he went into the pit with Lucifer and Michael, and that’s fine because he _feels_ fine but Dean’s still treating him like he could break at any second since his ‘flashback to hell’ episode.

Which, okay, _sucked_ but really, Sam’s fine.

Sam’s just about fed up being treated with the kiddy gloves on, so when they’re done with the job in Sandusky, Ohio, he hotwires a car and just _drives_.

He’s on the Ohio turnpike headed East not really knowing where he’s going but it feels good to drive and drive fast so he keeps going. When he sees signs for Pennsylvania, he veers off the exit before he’s even sure why but he does. Then a sign looms up telling him where he’s headed and Sam realizes he’s been headed this way from the moment he stepped on the gas pedal.

An hour later he’s in Pittsburgh.

The stolen car’s stereo is playing some sort of folk-pop song when Sam finds a place to parallel park that’s disturbingly close to how he’s feeling.

Liberty Avenue hasn’t changed a bit. The apocalypse happened… or, well it almost did and then it didn’t—if one wanted to argue semantics—but here nothing has changed. It’s been over a year since Dean and him (and Cas) had the run-in with the Incubus and yet it’s like Sam took one step back into the past rather than two steps forward (and one narrowly avoided apocalypse, a short jaunt in hell and a year of soullessness) into the present day.

Maybe Sam just needs a reminder that there are still some places on God’s good Earth that remain unchanged by all the evil, all the heartache, and all the death he’s held witness to in his years of being a hunter.

It’s late when he arrives, but Sam knows from experience that the night here is just getting started. He turns the car off and as the music fades out it’s eerily quiet.

That is, until he steps out of the car and straightens up to his full height, and about a dozen men whistle at him. He gets cat-calls the entire way to Babylon and there are more than a few attempted gropes to his rear. Sam sidesteps the enthusiastic locals and buries his hands in his jacket pockets, hunched over to hide some of his height, hoping that it will help, but really he just feels a little lost and a lot uncertain why he decided to come here in the first place.

The bright strobe lights of Babylon cut across the loud, thumping music as men in tight, brightly colored underwear dance up on raised pedestals. The floor is covered in half-naked, sweating, undulating men, more than a few of which are taking liberties with their dance partners. Sam sees a number of hands stuffed down pants. He blushes and looks away, suddenly feeling very, _very_ out of his comfort zone.

He should have called ahead. Why is he just thinking of this now?

Alcohol. A drink will help ease the sudden and crushing insecurity Sam is feeling. He heads over to the bar and signals the bartender for a beer. In his brief tryst with this side of his sexuality the last time he was in Pittsburgh, Sam hadn’t come here. They’d gone to Woody’s, and sure, there were guys and there was kissing and other open displays of affection, but nothing as glaringly promiscuous as this. Sam’s kind-of an innocent despite everything—Dean’s the one who’s the slut and who would like this place—but for Sam it’s really too much. He grabs his beer and downs half of it in one long gulp, and considers ordering something stronger next.

But…he came here for a purpose, even if at the onset of his decision he hadn’t known what that purpose was, and now that he does he’ll be damned if he just drove three hours in a stolen Toyota Corolla to get here without at least seeing things through. That car is so tiny his knees are still aching and only his aversion to jumping back inside it to return—abashed and empty-handed—to their Ohio motel room keeps his feet planted on the slick, cum-stained floor of Babylon.

He finishes the rest of his beer and this time orders a whiskey, neat.

“Somebody’s trying to forget something,” says a voice to his right, “Or _someone_. Buy you another…?”

Sam turns and when he does the man speaking to him trails off, then grins brilliantly up at him.

“Sammy!” Emmett’s smile is like a balm for his nerves, and Sam forgets all the tension that had him running here. “What brings you to town?”

The queen is beaming up at him, and Sam finds himself smiling in response.

“I was…in the area,” he says. And it’s technically true…one state over isn’t that far out of the way to drive for…hell, who is he fooling? Certainly not himself.

“Want to dance?” Emmett asks.

At Sam’s hesitant nod, Em grabs his hand and pulls him onto the dance floor. His hands go immediately around Sam’s neck and Sam places his on Em’s hips because…because that’s what he would do if he were dancing with a girl. Em is slim and feminine and soft yet hard and muscular and manly all in one. And somehow that’s just what Sam wants, just what he _needs_.

Em’s up on his tip-toes pressing his lips to Sam’s within minutes, and Sam really doesn’t mind that they’re making out so feverishly in such a public place. Everyone else seems to be doing it, anyway. He widens his mouth and rolls his tongue against Em’s and allows the queen to suck at his bottom lip.

Em’s grinning up at him when he pulls back, all dimples and adorable gap-y teeth. He bites his bottom lip in a way that tells Sam he’s happy Sam’s here tonight and that the kiss was more than excellent. Sam grins back because it was, it _really_ was.

More of the tension in his shoulders drains off and he pulls Em closer, moving against his tall—albeit still shorter than Sam’s—lithe body.

Em leans in to say something in his ear.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” he suggests, and Sam nods once.

Em grabs his hand again and pulls him towards the door.

“So, Sammy,” Emmett’s saying as they walk back to his flat, “Why the sudden appearance? Not that I’m not happy, I just never expected to see you again.”

“It’s—”

Sam _almost_ corrects him on his name, but stops himself. Emmett is looking up at him expecting an answer, and Sam doesn’t really know what to tell him.

“I didn’t know I was coming here tonight,” he says, which is the truth. His eyes flicker to Em’s, then away. His stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “Stuff happened. I needed to get away.”

“So you came here.”

Sam shrugs again, like it isn’t a big deal.

“I wanted…I dunno. Some sense of normalcy,” Sam justified.

“ _This_ is normal for you?” Emmett asks in disbelief. He knows Sam’s not openly gay—or bi, or whatever the hell he is. He’s really not sure anymore—but Em must also know that he doesn’t frequent places like this often.

Sam dips his head so that his hair will hide the blush rising across his cheeks.

“Compared to what I do for a living, yeah, it is,” he says. He feels unsatisfied with the answer, though, and continues. “If my brother can do the white picket fence, why can’t I…” He trails off and shrugs again.

Emmett drops his voice and gives him a look.

“This is anything but the white picket fence, darling,” he says.

Sam blushes harder.

“I know. But it’s something,” he replies.

Emmett stops in the middle of the street and grabs his arm.

“Sammy, did something happen?” he asks. His brow is pinched together in concern.

Sam looks away from him when he answers.

“A lot. Too much. Not enough.” He shrugs, unable to explain, and he’s been doing that a lot tonight, like he’s constantly trying to rid himself of this weight on his shoulders.

Em just looks at him, waiting for a better answer, so Sam hangs his head and tries again.

“I’ve been to hell and back,” he says, and his voice is low, gravelly. He laughs, tossing his hair and looking up at the sky. “And I can’t even remember it. Dean can, but I can’t, and if he can handle it then why the hell can’t I?”

He looks down at Em, who’s got this adorably confused look on his face.

“I may not know what it is you’re talking about,” Em says, shaking his head a little, “but whatever happened, I’m sure you can handle it. You’re a lot stronger than you think.”

“You think so?” Sam asks him. His eyes go wide at the look Emmett is giving him, all compassionate blue eyes and pursed lips.

“Honey, I _know_ so,” the queen says.

They arrive at his flat, and Sam’s heart tap dances against his rib cage.

Emmett’s lips are on his as soon as they’re through the door, and Sam is shrugging out of his coat with his help. Some of the weight falls off his shoulders as it drops to the floor. His strong, muscular arms go around Emmett and pull him close, hands spreading wide across his back. Emmett moans a little, pressing into him, and reaches for the edge of his tee.

Sam tugs it off his head and Emmett stops kissing him to stare, wide-eyed and mouth gaping open at the glorious sight of him.

“ _Jesus_ you have more muscles than my GI-Joe collection,” he says. He purses his lips in a way that tells Sam he more than just likes what he sees.

“I might be losing my mind, but at least I still have my looks,” Sam jokes. It’s not a very good joke.

Emmett unbuttons his shirt slowly, eyes running down the length of him.

“Honey, I’m losing my mind just lookin’ at you,” the queen says.

He pops the last button and tears off his shirt, tossing it aside. His hands are at the button to Sam’s jeans before it hits the floor.

Sam is hard when Em’s hands slip under the waistband to his boxer-briefs. He remembers this, and the anticipation of what’s to come has his head hanging back and he’s groaning before anything is even happening. Emmett sinks to his knees and shoves his jeans and underwear down around his thighs. His hands are only slightly cold as he grips Sam’s buttocks, fingertips splayed across his cheeks. His thumbs dig into his hip bones and then there’s a warm, wet pressure around the head of his cock.

His hips buck into Emmett’s mouth when his tongue slides down the length of him and he groans—loudly—to the ceiling. His hands fly to Emmett’s shortly cropped hair, fingers massaging his scalp and twitching as Emmett sucks him down.

He comes embarrassingly fast into Emmett’s mouth.

The queen pulls off him with a pop and dabs at his lips with his fingers, tongue sliding into his cheek with a self-satisfied grin. He looks up at Sam with bright blue eyes.

“Forgot how good it is when a man does it, did you?” Emmett flirts, and Sam looks down at him with his eyes wide and lost in ecstasy.

“Didn’t forget,” he pants, “Just…it’s been a while since anyone has…”

“Sucked you off?” Em provides.

“Touched me.” Sam winces at how that sounds but Em just looks up at him with such wide-eyed empathy that Sam doesn’t know what to feel.

“Well honey, you should have said something,” Emmett tells him.

He gets up off the ground and wraps his arms around Sam, pressing their chests together. He rests his chin on Sam’s chest and looks up at him. He’s tall, Sam realizes, but short enough where it’s comfortable. No girl Sam’s ever been with has been this tall unless she was wearing heels. He’s sure Em has worn heels before, and if he did so now, he’d be even taller than Sam.

“I kind of forgot until now,” he says by way of an explanation. It’s lame, but he knows Emmett won’t judge him for it. “Too much happened way too quickly. There wasn’t time to…” he trails off and looks away, his face suddenly hot. “If I had sex in the last year—and I know I did—I can’t remember it,” he says. He looks tentatively down at Emmett. “I did a lot of things I can’t remember.” His voice is quiet, ashamed. “Dean says it doesn’t count cuz it wasn’t really me, but I can’t pretend everything’s okay just because I wasn’t completely present for it.”

Emmett’s brow is furrowed. He looks concerned yet clearly confused by what Sam is telling him. Sam can tell he wants to ask for details but instead he just says, “So don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Sam asks.

Emmett gives him a half-shrug.

“Don’t pretend everything’s okay. Do you think I pretended to be okay when Liza got sick? You think she did?” He pins Sam with a look and it’s obvious the answer is no. “But she didn’t let it get her down, and neither should you. You just pop right back up on your feet and keep singing, sweetie,” Emmett says.

“I can’t sing,” Sam tells him.

Emmett rolls his eyes.

“You know what I _mean_. The show must go on.”

He grins up at Sam, and Sam grins back, charmed by his flamboyancy. His smile is so innocuous it’s hard to keep hold of the feelings that have been weighing him down since he got his soul back.

He leans down to kiss Emmett, because he’s suddenly and irreversibly falling for the man in his arms.

Emmett makes a little “ _Mmm,_ ” sound against his lips and smiles as Sam opens his mouth wider and slips his tongue inside Emmett’s mouth. He’s smiling too when he pulls back.

He slips a finger into the waistband of Em’s pants and tugs him toward the bedroom.

Emmett bites his bottom lip and comes willingly, hands on Sam’s biceps as Em guides his large, moose-like frame backward into the bedroom. When they reach it, Sam turns them and pushes Em back on the bed, hands going for his pants. He tugs them down around Em’s thighs and slides them down his legs as he kicks off his shoes.

His pants are still rumpled around his thighs, so he slides those off as well.

Sam climbs onto the bed and crawls up Emmett’s body, pressing kisses to his chest, to the nook of his neck, under his jaw. He bites at Em’s ear lightly and the man groans and gasps.

Sam’s hands are grasping his hips, and Em’s fingers are digging into his back as he licks down his neck.

“Oh, _God_ , Sammy,” Emmett says, his breath hitching, and Sam hums against his skin, tugging at it with his teeth.

Sam finds he likes it when Emmett calls him that.

Typically it’s just Dean who gets to call him Sammy, but Emmett is the exception. When he says Sam’s name like that it’s endearing, it’s sweet, it’s affectionate. His cheek dimples up and his lips spread wide to show off the gap in his teeth, and the name _means_ something that it doesn’t when Dean says it. What exactly it means Sam’s not sure, but he knows he likes it.

He rolls Em over and the man practically purrs out his name as Sam goes for his ass.

He’s rimming Em and spreading his cheeks wide, making Em gasp and beg for more.

Sam grabs a condom and some lube, settles himself over Em, and gives it to him.

Then they’re rocking together, panting in hard, short gasps. Em’s hand reaches back to grasp his hip, forcing Sam further inside of him, and Sam’s crying out in ecstasy, because it feels _so damn fucking good_ to lose himself in someone at the moment.

He wraps a large, calloused hand around Emmett’s cock and strokes him in time with the deep, bone-shattering thrusts he’s pounding into him.

Emmett’s the only person Sam has ever fucked—other than Ruby, but she’s a demon so Sam’s not sure it counts—who he doesn’t worry about breaking. Because Emmett, for all his softness and feminine charm is still a hard, muscular man who isn’t afraid of going all-out. In fact, he _loves_ it. It’s the harder, the better, and Sam gives it to him—gives him everything he’s got, because what he’s got isn’t much but at least he has this, and Sam gives it to him also because he _wants_ to. He _wants_ Emmett to have all of him.

He comes hard and it’s gut-wrenching. Emmett’s cry overlaps his own as the man jerks in his fingers and spills cum out over them. He shoots to the rim of the bed and Sam is honestly impressed by his stamina.

He pants and pulls out of Em, who rolls over, raises one knee and looks up at him with a lazy smile spread across his face. The gap between his front teeth is fully visible, and _fucking adorable_.

“That was _amazing_ ,” Emmett says. He pulls Sam down next to him on the bed, then flops his head to the side to grin at him. “I missed you, you know,” he says, letting out a little hum. “After you left, I mean. I missed you for…oh, a while.”

“You did?” Sam asks. He feels his eyes go wide. He never thought Em cared so much.

“Mm, yup,” Emmett answers. His hand slides over Sam’s chest, stops at his stomach. He turns on his side and pillows his head under his arm. “You’re a hard man to forget,” Em says, “And believe me, I’ve had a _lot_ of men.”

“I missed you too,” Sam admits, head falling to the side to look into Em’s eyes. “I never thought I would, but I did.”

“That makes two of us,” Emmett replies. He shifts a little closer to Sam and trails his fingers up Sam’s chest. His hand comes to rest right over Sam’s heart. “So you never really told me what it is you do for a living,” he says. The ever-flirtatious edge to his voice lilts upward.

“Sure you want to know?” Sam asks him.

Em shrugs. “Sure, why not?” he says.

Sam takes a deep breath.

“My brother and I are hunters,” he reveals, “We hunt ghosts, demons, monsters…basically anything that goes bump in the night.” He turns his head to look at Emmett. His blue eyes are confused, brow pinched together as he takes in Sam’s words.

“So that…thing that was killing queers the last time you were in town?” Em asks, and Sam nods.

“Yeah. Incubus. Nasty creature, turns out.”

Em wrinkles his nose. “I don’t even want to know,” he says.

Sam laughs, nods again. “It can get pretty grim.”

“So then why do you do it?” Em asks.

Sam shrugs lazily, lets a breath out through his nose.

“Someone has to,” he says.

Emmett just looks at him, eyes intensely blue, then leans over to capture Sam’s lips with his own. He kisses Sam slowly, one hand at the side of his face and fingers spread wide across his high cheekbones.

Sam shifts and pulls him closer.

It’s hours later and Sam still can’t fall asleep. He slept too much when he was in the pit and his body—the soulless him—didn’t sleep, so his body isn’t used to it. The insomnia is worse tonight because the weight on his shoulders is back, unrelenting in the dark as Emmett snores lightly—soft, puffy snorts—on the one pillow. Sam sits up and holds his face in his hands, listening as the man breathes, counting the small noises that tell Sam he’s still alive.

He feels for the wall in the back of his mind and it’s like an itch he wants to scratch but knows he mustn’t.

Emmett shifts on the bed next to him and the snoring stops, and then there’s a drowsy call of, “Sammy?”

Sam half turns and shoots him a sad smile.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Em says. He pushes up into a sitting position and places a hand on Sam’s back. “You okay, sweetie?” he asks.

Sam gulps. He’s so close to tears it’s embarrassing.

“Fine. Couldn’t sleep,” he forces out. He looks away, grateful for the shadows that hide his face.

Emmett shifts closer, wraps his arms around Sam’s middle and rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Come back to bed, Sammy,” he murmurs.

Sam shakes his head.

Emmett doesn’t say anything, just holds him as he breathes, ragged inhales and grating exhales as Sam attempts to regain some semblance of control over his emotions. He’s made for this, Sam realizes—taking care of others comes so naturally to Em, it’s easy for Sam to see why he has fallen so hard so quickly. Dean’s the only other person to ever take care of him, but not like _this_. Not like this.

Not in the way he needs.

Sam shifts and turns to face Em, slides his arms around the man’s middle and pulls him close to his chest. He finds himself wishing the night will never end, because he doesn’t want to leave this bed, doesn’t want to let go.

Emmett draws shapes on his back as Sam holds him, making quiet, content sounds every now and then. He doesn’t try to pull away. He just lets himself be held, and the connection Sam feels to him grows with each passing minute.

He presses a kiss to the top of Em’s shoulder and hopes it says everything he needs it to. Because there’s no way he can say what he wants to say so soon.

He’s halfway in love with this man.

Finally, when he feels filled to the brim, Sam pulls back. Emmett leans in to kiss him slowly, soft, plump lips puckering as he pulls back. They lie down and Em scoots his butt back into the nook of Sam’s lap, sighing happily as he grasps the arm Sam winds around him.

It’s a long time before Sam falls asleep, but he does.

When Sam awakes the shadows have faded and sunlight is pouring in through the window. Emmett is doodling with his fingers on Sam’s arm, teasing the soft hairs and it tickles. Sam snorts and jerks his arm away.

Em makes a pleased sound and flops over to face him.

“Morning, Sammy,” he says, grinning brightly.

“Good morning Em,” Sam replies. He can’t help but smile back. His chest feels full and happy with the man lying next to him.

Em leans in for a good morning kiss. A kiss turns into more, and soon they’re fully awake. Then it’s hard hands and firm muscles and tongues and teeth and sweat mixing with cum.

Sam lays on his back with Emmett splayed over his chest, face to the ceiling and Sam’s got his hand pressed over Em’s sternum. They’re both breathing heavily still from the exertion, and Emmett’s holding his wrist, his other hand placed over Sam’s hip.

He pats Sam’s leg twice and sits up.

“Well, much as I’d like to laze about all day, this queen has to get to work.” He gives Sam a look. “And you should probably call your brother. You didn’t tell him you were coming here, did you?”

Sam shakes his head no and sighs.

“He’s driving me nuts,” he says.

“He’s your brother, it’s his job,” Em points out.

He pats Sam’s leg again.

“Come on, I’m famished.”

It’s the lure of food that gets Sam up and out of bed.

They shower and walk to the Liberty Diner, and for once Sam doesn’t feel so out of place. Emmett’s hips swing as he walks, one of Sam’s arms slung around his shoulders and he holds Sam’s hand in his as they make their way down Liberty Ave.

The bell to the diner rings as he pushes open the door. Sam looks from Emmett’s smiling face and sees another, albeit this one is smug rather than endearing. Sam stops in his tracks and blinks.

“Dean?” he blurts out.

“Morning, Sammy. How’d you sleep?” Dean asks. He jabs a thumb over to the booth where another familiar face comes into view. Brian Kinney. “Cuz I gotta say, the hospitality in this town is fucking _fabulous_.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Em says, pulling away.

He pats Sam on the behind and goes to join his friends, and Sam sits down numbly across the table from his brother.

“How did you know where to find me?” he asks.

Dean holds up his cell phone.

“It’s called _technology_ ,” Dean says, “See, there’s this thing called the _internet_ …”

Oh, for the love of…one sentence in and he’s already pissing Sam off. He rolls his eyes and tunes out the rest of Dean’s dumbass explanation.

“So, is this gonna become a regular thing now?” Dean asks when he’s done and Sam still hasn’t said anything.

Sam looks for Debbie, the waitress, wishing she’d come stick her big nose in their business so he wouldn’t have to answer. She doesn’t, though. Dean continues to look at him expectantly.

“Maybe,” Sam replies finally. “I don’t know,” he adds hastily.

“Cuz if it was, I’d be fine with it,” Dean tells him.

“Yeah, I dunno man. It was just a spur of the moment thing,” Sam says. He pretends to be incredibly interested in the menu, holds it to his face to hide the embarrassed expression on his face.

Dean grabs the menu away at looks at him in that way that says he ain’t fooling anyone.

“Next time you want to run away for a booty call, just do me a solid and let me know where you’re going, okay?” Dean says.

“Yeah, I will. Sorry,” Sam replies.

Dean’s quiet for a minute, looking down at the table as Sam pretends again to look at the menu.

“He’s good for you,” Dean says suddenly, his voice low.

Sam gapes at him from over the menu.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” he says. His eyebrows pinch together. “But it doesn’t really matter. We’re hitting the road after breakfast, right? We still gotta track down Eve and figure out how to kill her.”

Dean bobs his head, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says, “Well, maybe we can come back once that’s all over with. There’s got to be at least a few hauntings here in Pittsburgh.”

He grins at Sam, who in turn looks down at the table and cracks a smile back at him.

“Yeah, good plan,” he says.

Breakfast is over far too quickly and Sam gets up to say goodbye to Em. Dean hovers at the counter and watches. Sam catches him stealing a lemon bar when Debbie isn’t looking.

“Heading on your merry way?” Emmett asks.

Sam nods. Ted, who is sharing the booth with Em, shoots him a dirty look for some reason that’s beyond him. Em bounces up from the table and takes Sam’s hands in both of his.

“Call anytime you need to hear a friendly voice, okay hun?” Emmett tells him. He reaches up on his tip toes to kiss Sam goodbye. “And take care of yourself,” he says with a smile.

“I will,” Sam promises him. He forces himself to smile back. “Bye, Em.”

“See you later, Sammy.”

Sam turns and heads for the exit, Dean moving in front of him to get the door. He looks back at Em one last time before stepping through it, reluctant to go. Em gives him a little wave and a smile and that’s that. He steps through the door and it jingles closed behind him.

“He called you Sammy,” Dean points out on their way to the car.

Sam blushes a little and hunches his shoulders, hands stuffed into his jacket.

“So?” he says, trying to hide the edge of embarrassment in his voice.

“Thought only I got to call you that,” Dean says.

“Yeah, well…” Sam takes in a breath, his stomach fluttering. “He’s the exception.”

Dean stops in his tracks and peers at him, then grins knowingly.

“Ah, I see,” he says, “So it’s like that.”

Sam grunts.

“Yeah. It’s like that."

They get in the car and drive away, putting Pittsburgh behind them as they continue heading east. Sam’s quiet as Dean drives, thinking about everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours. A feeling blooms in his chest, and then he’s smiling out the window.

He’s never had anyone to run back to before.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed this! This is one of the only times I've written in the present tense, and it was kinda fun to switch things up! 
> 
> I'm planning a gratuitous smut chapter for Dean/Brian as well, so keep on the lookout for that.


End file.
